


Echoes of the Past

by Luthienberen



Series: Inspector Gregson!Witch [8]
Category: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Established Relationship, Gen, Gregson POV, Implied queer relationships, M/M, Retirement era - Sherlock Holmes, Snow and Ice, Winter Solstice, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:41:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28068702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: Gregson has a slight misadventure when trying to reach Holmes and Watson’s home during snowfall which rapidly turns into a snowstorm.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Tobias Gregson/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Inspector Gregson!Witch [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1377490
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Echoes of the Past

**Author's Note:**

> I had a flash of inspiration to write in my Inspector Gregson!Witch universe so here it is ~ a bit of winter and splash of friendship with Holmes and Watson. : )
> 
> Brief reference to [a previous story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25034971/chapters/60628582) [Assortment of Curiosities], but no need to have read it to understand this one.

* * *

Snow began falling heavily upon Gregson’s arrival to the little train station set outside the otherwise isolated village to which Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson had retired to a few years ago. Normally Doctor Watson would be waiting with their new expensive sleek automobile, which had been a gift from an extremely grateful client. Gregson had never heard the particulars of said case and suspected he would rather not know the finer details.

Hearing the word “elves” was sufficient thank you. You would think that one entanglement with the living machine and a peek into the other world would be enough for one consulting detective and one medical doctor, but apparently not. Though Gregson wondered why he was even surprised by the antics of his long time associates? Between them the sheer amount of varied mischief they could end up was a astonishing (and occasionally fun, but Gregson would deny that for eternity).

Unfortunately, in the case of said car, due to the weather both the good doctor and the car would not be in evidence. It was of no matter. Gregson would simply saddle a horse and ride. Finding a serviceable steed was easy for he knew how to navigate this village and even with the white flakes falling faster every minute the village stables were open.

Waving away the concern of the stable master, Gregson secured his sparse luggage of one bag to the bridle and mounted. Rose whined in recognition and with a chuckle and a pat Gregson was on his way.

Swiftly they were on the narrow winding path which led to the lonely cottage, perched on a cliff high above the sea.

Whiteness swirled about them both, stinging his exposed face as they rode up the steady incline. Barren fields rolled away on either side, now rapidly filling with ice and snow. The rising wind drove more shards of painful flakes at Gregson sitting tall in his saddle.

“Damn.”

Tugging up his scarf so it covered his mouth and cheeks Gregson squinted. The morning sun glittered amongst the ivory curtain causing flashes of white to sparkle and dance in his vision, but he could just espy the path ahead. Faithful and resolute Rose knew the road well and with head bowed continued on at a fast trot.

Still…he would have to ride harder if he were to reach his friends before the snow made it impossible to travel – and being trapped outside would not be good. Usually Gregson would have stayed the night in the village in such conditions, but he had brought with him certain supplies he feared to be discovered upon his person.

Holly and ivy were ostensibly innocent, yet the rest of his supplies had a flair of being used either in Catholic ritual (his incense for one) or in a more pagan sense, such as his wand and spell book.

He intention was to cleanse and bless the home of his old friends. This was following the trouble they had with the same client who had gifted them with the automobile. However, as of this moment a simple visit was rapidly transforming into a minor incident.

Shrugging off some of the fluffy yet decidedly cold snow which had settled on his shoulders, Gregson was grateful for his bulk. Watson, a former rugby player, was teased occasionally by Holmes for their burliness, calling them “men of action” when in a tight spot, but with the weather turning deadly cold, having some muscle and fat was certainly helpful.

Gregson glanced to his left to try and pin where he was along the path.

Silent trees stood at a distance watching him, bare of their leaves, but Gregson was undaunted. Life was not dead, merely asleep. Soon enough he would celebrate the winter solstice with his uncle and lover. On the shortest day they would sing and dance, feast on carefully stored provisions and drink. They would recall tales of the coming spring and the blessed sun who would now linger for longer in the heavens. Hope for warmer weather and the passing of winter would be renewed.

A jolt from Rose aroused Gregson from his meandering thoughts and he chided his self-absorption. Allowing yourself to lose focus in the middle of what was quickly becoming a snow storm was as good as becoming adrift on the sea in a boat without rudder or paddles.

“Thank you Rose.”

Rose neighed softly.

Gregson inhaled through his scarf and grimaced at the prickling sensation in his throat and lungs. The trees to his left and the path ahead were alternatingly obscured by a cloud of swirling flakes for a few seconds before reappearing. This was increasingly in frequency all too quickly.

Worry tickled at him. In good weather he had another fifteen minute journey, in these conditions it would take half an hour at least. Could he and Rose manage? If they wandered off the path and somehow stepped onto a frozen pond they might slip and be debilitatingly injured, or they might reach the cliff edge and tumble off…neither option was appealing.

In comparison the trees offered little shelter, but they offered a more favourable option of providing some protection from the wind. He could also think of what to do without battling the wind so much.

Therefore, with great reluctance, Gregson steered Rose to the clump of trees. It took longer than he cared for, but they reached the tall stately oaks safely. Rose navigated the ancient tree trunks well and soon they were harboured by a roughly semi-circle of oaken trees. Gregson recognised this close-set oaken family from a brief exploration he had undertaken last summer.

Sliding off Rose and ensuring her comfort with a bag of food, Gregson examined the oaks, feeling a sense of familiarity and comfort. Here the oak trees were impressive and would suit a wonderful celebration. They were old, so very old.

Their age whispered of endurance, of times long ago and of protection from the elements. Laying a gloved hand on one of the trunks, Gregson saw in his mind’s eye phantom figures laughing and dancing around a bonfire. Voices from centuries past sang in a language different and distorted by time.

Yet he understood the meaning behind the words, behind the music that played with fingers moving quick as lightening over wooden instruments. Druids chanted some songs and blessed mistletoe whilst using holly and ivy full of meaning – evergreen, the continuity of life and the promise of spring.

Flames leapt into the air, crackling and spitting, and Gregson blinked to clear his vision. He stood once more in the little semi-circle of trees with Rose finishing her food. Gregson grinned and petted her.

“Rose my lady, I must thank my ancestors. I have an idea. Now, don’t panic.”

Rose snorted in the fashion of a horse. Her meaning was simple: _As if you could frighten me._

“I was being silly Rose. I apologise. Very well then, let’s begin.”

Creating a circle was hard with gloved hands beginning to go numb despite his thick gloves, yet in a moment he had succeeded. He did not have time for proper ritual; however the circle would keep them and those outside safe. Kneeling on the snow laden ground, Gregson focused his mind until he could sense acutely his environment.

The great oak trees slept, their thumping ‘hearts’ pushing vital fluids through the massive tree limbs. The spirit of the trees stirred, but Gregson whispered his greetings politely and moved on.

Creatures dozed under the soil in their winter sleep with plants also resting before flourishing once more. Now he drifted past them, aware of the other animals who slept during the day waiting for night or the day animals which now huddled to hide from the snow storm.

_There._

Gregson could feel the tug of Holmes and Watson’s cottage in the distance. On his first visit to his friends in their retirement, he had cleansed their home and blessed it and did so every time he came. Over time this had left a visible spiritual mark and one he recognised. Inhaling carefully he captured that sensation and brought it with him to the waking world as a thread leading from their home to his mind.

Opening his eyes, Gregson undid the circle carefully then mounted Rose.

“Come Rose, I know the way now. We shall not go astray.”

Rose nodded and began to walk. Her faith in him was always humbling and Gregson debated moving to the countryside and bringing Rose with him – he knew the stable master would be amendable. It was a plan to discuss with his family. Gregson took one last look at the oak trees prior to them vanishing behind curtains of white.

Once they were safe he would ask Holmes and Watson if he could bring his family here to spend the Solstice, for here the past was very close and he owed the oaks thanks for their protection and assistance.

First things first though, he must arrive at his friends’ home. Bending down over the saddle Gregson concentrated on following the thread that connected him to their destination.

Long minutes passed and Rose began to have difficulties. It was pointless to speak over the wind so Gregson resorted to keeping one hand on the side of Rose’s neck. A comforting gesture for them both.

Visibility was now nearly gone, the sun causing everything to be shifting shades of ivory and white with a pale blue-silver gleam that added an ethereal edge to the world. His garments afforded little protection against the angry elements. Gregson ignored the icy jagged fragments fear underlying his confidence, instead driving his will ahead and projecting calmness to Rose.

His strength was formidable, but he was weary after a long journey and week of policing. This was transforming into a test of endurance.

Thankfully, only five minutes later, when the thread was thicker and the sensation stronger, Gregson saw light of human origin. A cry emerged – faint and dashed away by the wind, but still heard before it died.

Then, from the relentless snow, appeared a man on a horse. Gregson nearly laughed. Doctor Watson! The light was an old-fashioned lamp fastened to his saddle.

He waved and the man waved back before coming up and seizing his reins. Nodding in comprehension, Gregson allowed Doctor Watson to steer them to safety. Shortly, though it felt longer, they were approaching the small stables kept on the disused farm Holmes and Watson had purchased.

Lamps burned on either side of the door and just inside stood a relieved detective. He didn’t speak until they were all inside and the door securely locked. Only then did the detective embrace Gregson.

“Thank goodness Watson found you!”

Watson chuckled at that and patted Gregson on the shoulder. His eyes were bright as ever, though his shoulder obviously pained him. He said cheerfully, with a voice rough from the cold, “Moreso that Gregson found me.”

Gregson smiled. “A little of both.”

Holmes rolled his eyes. “Oh it’s _magic_ then _._ ” His annoyed grunt was due to still not finding a scientific explanation for the whole process, which supplied never ending amusement for both Watson and Gregson.

“Yes, but Watson turned up at the right time…as usual.”

Watson smiled at his teasing. “Living with Holmes has honed my senses in that regard.”

“I assure you my dear Watson, you have provided me with many hours of concern over the years,” retorted Holmes who then embraced his dear friend. Their embrace lasted much longer and was full of whispers.

Gregson gave them their privacy, yet aware in the corner of his eyes the gentle slide of hands, the brush of lips over a furrowed brow and long white fingers gently stroking over a stiff shoulder.

He had made Rose comfortable by the time his companions had reassured themselves of each other’s health. Watson’s steed – Thor – was soon likewise secured and with that the three men slipped into the house.

Heat welcome Gregson and he sighed to feel the warmth sinking through his frozen flesh and bones.

“Come man,” urged Holmes, green-grey eyes bright with sudden excitement. A lifetime of acquaintance with Holmes had Gregson suitably alarmed.

“Please tell me the elves are gone and not actually still present.”

“What? Oh no, they are gone,” said Holmes far too dismissively. Watson met his gaze with sympathy.

“No, you must see our new bath! We have wrangled a bit of ingenious indoor plumbing and a hot bath is yours to be had.” Holmes paused in the motion of rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Are you well?” he asked, suddenly concerned again.

Gregson realised his wariness was visible. “A trifle cold and weary Holmes, nothing more.”

“In that case,” said Watson quickly intervening, “I believe you ought to have your bath and Sherlock can show you the intricacies of the bath tomorrow morning, once you have bathed, eaten and slept.”

Holmes sighed theatrically, but conceded and restrained himself to carrying Gregson’s bag, ignoring all protests to the contrary. Then he vanished to fuss over the bath while Watson helped him unpack due to his numb fingers. Somehow, Gregson found himself hurried along to a welcoming bath whereupon Watson remained to assist.

“No arguments. If Mr Taylor discovered I let you drown in the bath I would be in endless trouble. Your uncle would also be displeased.”

Gregson had to concur with that declaration so he gave up all fight and enjoyed the deliciously hot water.

Much later, after a meal of excellent hot chicken broth followed by steaming tea and cake, Gregson watched his friends with a smile.

Watson was reclining in the massive armchair that was positioned as close to the fire as one could be without falling into the grate. Holmes was standing and playing his violin, a sweet jolly melody that summoned up his vision back among the oaks. Shortly, the tall thin detective would be curled up with his doctor, exchanging kisses and soft murmurs beyond words.

Gregson missed his love fiercely at the sight. Once he was home he would do the same, but more cautiously for they still lived in the middle of a busy London street where everyone’s business was everyone’s business.

For now though he rejoiced in their love. Only when sleep threatened him did Gregson make his excuses. His friends wished him a good night and observed his departure intently.

Gregson knew that tonight both men would sleep little, but rather would take turns watching over him to ensure he had not suffered frostbite or a cold. Warmed by their affection, Gregson reached his room and withdrew his holly and ivy. The bright red against the evergreen was beautiful.

Laying them on the window sill to grant some protection whilst he slept and his guardians watched, Gregson peered into the cold night where the blizzard raged.

“Thank you,” he whispered to his ancestors.

He did not think it was his imagination when he heard a distant laugh of thanks, or saw a flash of twirling shapes amid the darkness outside or suddenly smelled musk, food and ale.

Curling up in under the thick comforter, Gregson fell asleep cradled by both past and present, while relishing the future with great joy.


End file.
